A Desert Near Lonely People
by stephan.nelson
Summary: Cecilos- longer fiction about two people whose loneliness unites them, but is that really what a relationship should be based on? m/m, extra characters inserted. T for language and themes. Rating may be raised later.
1. 1- Alone

~I~

_Carlos_

**Bleeding**- _n. _the leakage of life blood from the body

**Inflammation**- _n. _the gathering of excessive blood in an area

**Pain**- an uncomfortable feeling caused by either bleeding or inflammation- can be further divided as:

1) Physical pain- _n. _a feeling of literal bodily harm, past, current or imminent- most recognized, expressed in nerve impulses along specially designed receptors, with drugs available that can often temper if not heal

2) Mental pain- _n. _a feeling of exhaustion, of devoting too much time (life) to one thing or another, or of losing part of oneself to something- less common, but considered a sign of doing something very good, often suggested treatment is rest of some kind

3) Emotional pain- _n. _a feeling of being bled out, losing the pleasant and maybe all feeling, of being unworthy or used up- often the most avoided, though very common indeed- expressed as loneliness, depression, anger, lacking self-worth, sleeplessness, anxiety and various other emotions and behaviors

There are no long term treatments for emotional pain, except changing the way one thinks about themselves, This is a long, committed process, which requires not only getting through the situation or situations that caused it, but also interacting with and changing the memories of them. Unlike most pain, emotional pain is solved by intervention by the sufferer, though sometimes, especially in severe situations, medical professionals may be involved.

**Angst**- _n. __German_ lit- fear, agitation or fright, but colloquially in English used almost exclusively for emotional pain and certain emotions thereof- slightly derisive, esp. when used for and by teenagers

* * *

I knew all that. Of course, as a scientist I knew a lot of things- sometimes very useless things. I glanced at my scars, at the band aids I had over scars to be. They weren't exactly self-inflicted, but I hadn't really done anything to prevent them either. I didn't want to kill myself, but there wasn't a sense of self preservation. I wasn't worth killing, but I wasn't worth saving.

At least, that's what my brain was telling me. I knew it was wrong, I hoped it was wrong, but I couldn't stop my thoughts from trying to contradict me.

And so I wept, if only inside my head. Half of me wanted to comfort myself, whispering _It's okay, it's going to be okay_, but even then it felt false, somehow just a reaching out of some sort of last shred of self preservation. I didn't feel myself worth the concern.

There was no cause for this. It was illogical. Yeah, people were cruel, kids were cruel, and it didn't excuse what they did, but they were cruel to everyone- why would I take it so hard when no one else had? I remember teasing people nearly as badly as they had done to me, or did I? They took it better than I did in any case. Was I being too sensitive? I recalled something akin to torture now, but I recall just gritting my teeth then and tucking my head deeper into my science book, searching out more fallacies the editors had evidently missed. I wanted out, but I wasn't weak then like I was now. Had I just become a weaker person between then and now?

I sighed and packed my things. Maybe a fresh start, following my dreams would help. I'd always wanted to go somewhere... unusual. Inexplicable. Where I could recapture that curiosity I'd used to have when I'd first been learning the workings of the world. But mostly, I just wanted to leave here, leave the half-flashbacks of what I'd done, what had been done to me, and what had happened.

I boarded the nearest train away, into the southwestern desert.

* * *

~2~

Carlos

I stared out the window, wondering if instead of studying the amazing town of Night Vale, where dozens of scientists had reported strange phenomena over the years, I should study the odd nostalgia that trains seem to bring on. No other form of transport seems to cause such strong hypothalamic reaction, and part of that seemed to have something to do with the way I was rewriting the memories.

I sighed and curled up on the bottom bunk of my sleeping car and began to doodle on my yellow tablet. Call me old fashioned, but even being raised with email, Facebook, and bounding technology had never diminished my love for the feel and smell and idea of the paper tablet. In a few stops, one to five other scientists would be in the car with me, sharing our living space for the two day ride out to the desert. I tried to use the time to think about what they would not allow me, or perhaps social constructs said not to- self pity, my fears going out there, my secret obsession with valley fever (I had worked very hard to try to develop a vaccine before I left, but I also run out of time and had to test a prototype on myself without knowing if it would work), my painful band aids, and the general dislike I had for other people.

I worked through these anxieties as quickly as I could, knowing any stop might be my first accompanied by others. By stop after stop, no one else boarded the train. I began to play a game with myself, writing a word, then a word I associated with it, starting with one of the words carved on the bunk above:

Loves

Obsession

Clean

Squeak

Squish

Soft

Suffocate

Cucurri- the Latin word for hurry away

Curry

Furry

Warm

Love

Protect

I was in the middle of writing bronze when another scientist cracked the door and peeked in. She seemed surprised: "If you're awake and feeling well enough, come over to my cabin two doors down on the left. We're having a little bit of 'fun.'" I thanked her softly before returning to the game. It suddenly seemed less important. I took a deep breath, stood slowly, and walked over to her cabin. They were scientists after all. Professionals. They would know what to do with this time.

* * *

~3~

Cecil

I slowly sat down behind the desk, quietly trying to ignore Station Management's cries of ravenous hunger. They were shrill, piercing, and it probably didn't help they I'd been out late bowling with the others. I softly set my head on the desk for a ten second break before my segment began.

Sooner than I'd hoped, the red "live" light lit, and I began to speak. Slowly, evenly, as I'd always been taught. But it wasn't fun anymore- in fact, I couldn't remember when it was. There just wasn't pleasure in it now, any of it. I just felt drained from all the interactions, so drained. Speaking was like placing a spigot in an old cactus- yes, the water was gone now, but in time it would return with its nasty and somewhat interesting hallucinogenic effects. But now, now I was so tired, not even tired now, just old and worn out and used up.

I wanted to sleep- no, not sleep, to rest- so badly. What was stopping me? Not the money, because the money was barely enough to stay alive here, and not the lackluster fame, and not stubbornness, because goddammit, I was not going to get myself into trouble with that again. What was it? It almost seemed like the routine, the lack of will- of mental and emotional energy- to push outside the tide of routine, was just carrying me along like a small crab in the dunes.

It was finally time for The Weather- my five minutes a session to relax or panic or whatever had to be done. I set my head on the desk and just listened as "Space Oddity" drifted across the soundboard. Yes, I was out there, all alone, and indeed floating in a most peculiar way. My microphone began to hover, and I gently pulled it down as it was apt to do that every once in a while- just hovering, glowing slightly and becoming a bit warm to the touch.

I was sure it was nothing, anyway. The song ended, I finished the broadcast as melodramatically as I could manage, and I packed my things to return home. I was too early to go to bed, but my bones were aching for that support. Maybe it was only my mind, but the brilliant sunset seemed to only fade into a huge stretch of gray sand, seemingly never ending, swallowing up not just me, but the whole of Night Vale.

"Good Night, Night Vale. Good Night." The final shrieks of Station Management were dull, high out here by my house. I wished them, and their unfortunate victims, something of a farewell, a wish of health and happiness in this life and the next.

I couldn't say if I would have the same.


	2. 2- Whatever, Wherever, Whenever

~4~

Carlos

As I entered the cabin, I discovered that I was perhaps a bit incorrect in my assumption. The scientists were indeed spending their time, but drinking sodas and playing Words With Friends separately on their phones was hardly what I would call wisely, or uniting. I sighed, and sat down on the nearest bunk; it would probably be almost as long of a ride in here, but without my paper or some sort of group activity, it would seem even longer.

Tesla noticed what the other scientists were up to. It seemed to please her even less: "Guys, instead of all playing separately on our phones, why don't we play Scrabble together? I brought a board..."

"So? If you haven't noticed, ma'am, we have five people here and only four slots."

"When's the last time you looked up? We have six people, so three teams of two."

We split. I naturally gravitated towards someone I could relate to: Tesla. As most things I ever did, it was a mistake. She was confident, funny and whip smart, but competitive, so **competitive**. And it probably didn't help that my patience was often limited at best for these things; four hours I could wait for a perfect specimen, but it just killed me to wait three minutes for someone else to make a move. The words were played:

_Tertiary_

_Chi_

_Ferrous_

_Titan_

_Yoke_

_Scent _

_Effervescent_

And so on. And though I wasn't apt to admit it, this was becoming quite fun. As a few more specialists inched into the car, players were slowly replaced. I wasn't the first, but eventually found myself as official dictionary consultant as the only person who seemed to have a physical copy.

Things were a little better, especially as my team had briefly been in the lead. Laughs were exchanged, jokes were told, and I even found myself telling a story of home. These were some good times, even if they weren't scientific.

* * *

~5~

Cecil

I found myself quite alone, silently staring at the void above and about my house. There was nothing in there, at least nothing I had anything to say about. But who else here would have an appreciation of words like I did? Certainly very, very few after the town ban on writing utensils and paper. There were simply no more poets to be had, were there?

This was a part of the reasons I liked the old woman- Josie- she never wasted her words, just saying what had to be said before waiting for the power of the words to do its part. I was always amazed by how few words it took her to soothe people, make days, or appreciate what the world offered us. Some days, I succumbed to that, simply sitting next to her and enjoying the world.

But alas, she knew also what an average day could be like for me; that honest face had been told many things I thought would stay inside until I was once again reeducated. I could see in her that there were times she wanted to hold my face in her hands and speak those few soothing words to me as well, but she couldn't seem to find exactly what I needed.

"That's life for you," I toned into the surrounding empty void, "You usually have what you need, but sometimes that's just not enough. What is wrong with me? What ever happened to happy, cheerful Cecil Palmer- the light voice in the desert night? What happened?" I nearly walked into my untrimmed cactus as I slowly shuffled inside: away from the void and the existential terror that was existence.

No one would appreciate my poetry. No one would see the power words could hold for me. I had friends, but there was still that incredible loneliness of seemingly being the only sad one, unwilling to weigh the others down. I just wanted people to know what I needed, but even I didn't know. I wanted people to fix me but without making them work or burden themselves.

I wanted the only thing that didn't exist here- the impossible, and I knew it.

* * *

~6~

Carlos

At last, I was alone in my cabin. Well, I wasn't really alone- one other man, whose name escapes me, was also there. But while I occupied the bottom bunk, hopefully out of sight, he was on the top of the other side, adventurous and brave.

Why had they chosen me above him to lead this expedition? My knowledge, naturally; I was unsure if I was insightful, empathetic or particularly influential, but I had been taught more faster than most other people. But I was crippled with the anxiety, the premonition that any second I was going to make a huge mistake, and someone was going to get hurt; I would get told off, I would be punished, I would probably lose my job, and then what? What would that leave me if my knowledge wasn't there?

I sighed, and took out my tablet once again, to forge words in the gathering light. I was probably not looking well- not eating, motion sickness, and insomnia do take their toll- but that gnawing anxiety and growing sadness was the cause. I just tried to take my mind off of it. I couldn't tell the others I was going to screw up until I did- that was just bad leadership, a coup waiting to happen. So I played the game:

_Shit_

_Crap_

_Junk_

_Useless_

_People_

_Me_

_Self_

_Perspective_

_Drawing_

_Art_

_Beauty_

_Quality_

_Abstract_

_Unquantifiable_

_Feynman_

_Genius_

_Martyr_

_Unswayed_

_Public_

_Humiliation_

_Death_

_Life_

_Breath_

_Fire_

_Love_

_Loss_

_Grief_

_Depression_

_Stigma_

_Prejudice_

_Pain_

_Violence_

_Bullying_

_Names_

_Broken_

_Lost_

_Deserted_

_Alone_

"Shit," I muttered as the door swung, almost hitting me in the head.

"Good morning to you too, sunshine!" Tesla stole a long look at my notebook before I had the presence of mind to hide it. She smiled,that way that only people who now understand you're broken but can't empathize or understand do: vapid, strained, pitying. It was exactly the sort of thing I hated to see in people I was starting to like.

"Did you want something?" I inquired, slightly irritated. She just smiled, so strained and obtuse I began to pity her.

She sighed and her smile dropped for a second, becoming more real, "Just to sit and watch the desert with you for awhile."

My roommate had apparently left at some point, so a spot was cleared on the other side of the cabin. We sat in silence, watching the vacuous desert pass. A mountain eventually arose, the lone sentinel of the outskirts of our destination. The train stopped almost immediately.

"All passengers headed to Night Vale are kindly asked to disembark. As we only pass through the eighth Tuesday of months beginning in M, we do not expect the pleasure of transporting you again. Therefore, I would like to extend thanks for traveling with..." The message went on like this for a time, inane as well as insidious. It finally concluded with: "Good bye, and good night sweet princes and princesses."

And suddenly we were standing outside the train with all our things, deciding who could and should own cars. Who would be driving us into the city.

Hoping that there was little out here to run into and to avoid the awkwardness of sharing transportation longer than necessary, I volunteered.


	3. 3- Thank the Void

~7~

Carlos

There was a sort of welcoming party when I arrived. A strange man, not particularly tall, but not short by any means- I would estimate 1.8 meters- and while not toned or thin, not namely fat either: he just looked mildly nondescript, stunningly modest. But as I stepped out of the car, I saw his eyes travel to my messy, frizzy hair. I turned away, expecting the normal commentary: "Why is it so long? Why don't you ever comb it? Couldn't you straighten it, make it more manageable?"

"It's so perfect," I heard him mumble. I swung back around, almost spilling the contents of the box I was holding.

"Excuse me," I creaked, "What?" He stared in consternation, not responding. He seemed to leave as quickly as possible without actually running- I'd scared him off. I mentally smacked myself; all my faux pas weren't exactly my fault, but that didn't stop me from often blaming myself.

The others were a bit later. Apparently they'd all been fascinated with gas station antics. Meanwhile, I had gone and placed all the equipment I had been carrying in exchange for not having to carry another of the nine person team. I had also visited the pizza place next door, which had a very unusual flavor. I would hesitate to name it good or unpleasant, just... unmatched.

There wasn't much else to do. I would unpack in my new house later, after there was no chance left that I would be needed in the outside world. I considered turning on a TV, but they wasn't anything on except government-sponsored trash and propaganda; essentially, my brain was fried to a point where I'm not even sure if there was a difference between the broadcasts and a noise pattern.

A large crowd had now gathered outside the lab. We decided to corral them into a more advantageous location, calling "town meeting," in hopes it would be a sort of recruiting activity. When we had relocated the crowd, I stood ahead and began to speak: "Uh- Welcome, Night Vale, My name is Carlos-"

"HELLO CARLOS!" the crowd chanted.

I was momentarily speechless- people weren't usually so excited to see me. "Why, hello to you too!" I replied hesitantly. The normal man was standing around the crowd's midpoint, in front of some dapper but stern-looking gentlemen; he seemed to be hanging onto my words. I flashed him a smile, hoping that might give me a little confidence.

"Well," I continued, "If the reports that have leaked out have any truth to them, we've got probably by far the scientifically interesting community in the United States, surpassing even that radioactive wonder, Hackensack, New Jersey."

No one laughed at my joke, not even the scientists. Actually, no one ever laughed at any of my jokes; I probably have atrocious timing. But then again, maybe the the joke itself wasn't that funny- I was used to making fun of New Jersey from the comfort of a nearby state. Looking around, it actually seemed most likely that the majority of the crowd had never left the city borders, at least not by more than a few miles.

Sighed internally, I continued once again: "Some of us are going to be here for quite awhile. We're always here to talk to, and we'll actually need your help tracking down and studying the unusual phenomena. In return, I- we would really appreciate it if you could make us... welcome." The snappy men frowned, but the more pedestrian man in front flashed me a smile. I grinned back and suddenly was faced by a large crowd of very loud, very excited people.

I hope they got the message.

* * *

~8~

Cecil

Carlos- Doctor Carlos- even his name was perfectly imperfect. Most people are very familar with iambic diameter, long-short long-short, but this is a pyrric, two shorts, followed by a spondee, two longs, or maybe a trochee, which is short-long. The beauty of being Greek, then Roman, and it resolves perfectly into this perfect sound. Doc-tor CAR-LOS, as I would phonectically write it. Caaaaaaaaaaar-LOS.

I wasn't not sure which I preferred.

But, he was perfect in that way that you see in people that have travelled a long time to be where you already are. They're messy, tired, and probably not feeling too well, but something shines from that. Some may pass it off as just grease, but I see some beauty in those who travel and want to see the world- they want to experience something new.

I wanted to experience someone new. Well, I supposed some new people would be the more appropriate term, as there were other scientists, but I felt so drawn to Carlos. Drawn to him in a way that seems downright unscientific, just magical. But I wanted to meet new people, maybe do new things.

But first, I needed to do what I did all the time: my broadcast. It seemed I might be the first to really welcome Carlos to our town, as the Sheriff's Secret Police had lately run a censor over the news broadcast, and most of the town was beginning to only receive the imaginary form of the newspaper.

I hoped I could capture the rapture we all felt- or maybe just I felt- upon meeting this wonderful man, this Carlos.

CAAAAAR-LOOOS, caaaaaaaaaar-LOS. I still wasn't sure which I preferred, but I liked the sound. Carlos

* * *

~9~

Carlos

That first day was CRAZY. First, an airplane flew right through the gym during the school's basketball practice. And what do the citizens do? Blame their rivals, Desert Bluffs.

Then, as we all went to set our things into the new housing district, Roberta noticed that the house next door doesn't seem to exist. She managed to throw a rock right through the roof. No one wants to knock on the door. It's just a really creepy house, although its weird to just have an empty lot between all these nearly identical houses.

Next, the earthquake monitors just outside town started going off. We still can't figure out what went wrong- they've all been set up correctly. They're working just fine. It's so weird.

A man found a warlike society beneath his bowling alley. An old woman- the same one that I now recall brought slightly bland corn muffins to my announcement- claimed there were angels in her house. The sunset happened ten minutes later than it should have according to the calculations we ad done of the train to pass time- calculations accurate to within 0.01% or less than eight seconds. Glowing lights above Arby's. Preferable forms of death.

But by far, the strangest thing to happen that day was the strange ma- Cecil's broadcast. Perfect hair? Perfect teeth? Since when did I cause people to rejoice and despair? I marched over there, holding the combination Geiger/neutron detector I had been using to make sure most of the town hadn't just begun to mutate (the answer being unlikely for the the, uh, majority). Why I was so determined to clear the record was fuzzy; fear, anger, lacking self-confidence: it hardly mattered. I did it of record to not only save him, but also myself some inevitable embarrassment- in this case, at being corrected and being doubtful of myself, respectively.

But then my radioactivity meter went off. Loudly, screechingly. I asked very slowly in a strained voice, "Cecil, have you ever heard of radioactivity?"

"No, I haven't, perfect Carlos."

I momentarily simpered before frowning at the name, "Well, you had best get out of here, away from that thing. In fact, you might want to evacuate the whole building with these readings."

And what does he do? Stay. Stay because it's his job. I'm not sure how much I pitied and admired that idiot.


End file.
